"But he has no right to signal me," said Carlisle. "Drive on, William."
But she herself unconsciously spoke in an undertone, and the order appeared to be lost in the enveloping din. William, all but blockaded anyway, had come to a halt. Coincidentally sounded the voice of Hen, the pachyderm:
"Hello, V.V.! What're you doing way down here in the wilds? Not visiting the sick, without your little black bag?"
V. Vivian stood bareheaded at the side of Mr. Heth's (of the Works) shining car.
"How'do, Henrietta?--Oh, good afternoon, Miss Heth. No, I--I'm down here on other business this time...."
Carlisle, her eyes about on a level with the young man's interesting piscatorial necktie, had acknowledged his greeting by the smallest and frigidest inclination of her head. That done, feeling outraged by this whole proceeding, she at once looked ostentatiously in another direction.
The lame doctor, for his part, appeared a little embarrassed by the rencontre, or perhaps excited, one or both.
"I--it's a very fortunate coincidence, meeting you in this way," he began at once. "The fact was, I--ah--was just thinking of you at that moment, Miss Heth,--wishing very much to see you--"
Miss Heth turned her pretty head once more, this time with a sort of jerk. So the man pretended to have forgotten that she had ordered him not to address her again.
Now her eyes fully met those of Dalhousie's friend, and in that meeting she was conscious of an odd little shock, almost like a physical impact.... Why was it that this impossible man, with his ridiculous opinions, his wicked untruths, and his face so full of a misplaced hopefulness, kept coming like a destiny across and across her path? What was her silly weakness, that he never looked at her with those quite misrepresentative eyes without making her angry and unhappy?...